Remembrance Sunday
by Storage-Jar
Summary: Alex's thoughts in the two minute silence. A dead man returns to life. A chat in the park - "Why are you wearing a poppy?" "Even assassins need to respect the dead." "Don't you think that's a bit ironic?"


_**Disclaimer-** _don't own Alex Rider series, that would be AH.

**note: I am not British, so anything I get wrong in that aspect ... well, I apologize.

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><p><span>Remembrance Sunday<span>

It was a cold, crisp autumn day in London. To be precise, it was the second Sunday of a chilly November. Alex, dressed in semi-formal clothes, a poppy pinned to the collar of his shirt, headed over to the Cenotaph in Whitehall where the majority of people would be gathered.

The air seemed to be sharply slicing to Alex, and he readjusted his scarf.

At exactly 11 in the morning, the giant clock tower chimed its low dongs.

Everyone stood in the two minute silence, thinking about those who fought so bravely to protect the country and died. _The glorious dead_, Alex thought, agreeing with the words inscribed on the Cenotaph.

Alex stared at the looming, stone memorial in a trance unblinkingly, while his mind wandered.

He thought back to a time when he, like any other schoolboy, paid polite respect to these dead soldiers and felt a distant sadness for the wars that had taken those lives. It was a time when he knew the terrible aftermath of wars, felt remorse for it, but hadn't _really. _He felt truly bad about the wars, but he didn't really understand because it never affected him directly. After the whole ceremony of remembrance, he carried on with life, forgetting about it until the next year.

How different things were now. After working for MI6, Alex didn't think he'd ever feel that same faraway sadness that wasn't much more than a small wisp of regret for the soldiers. This was now a part of his world. He could really connect. With a similar line of job, these men felt the same grief and pain as he did, they knew the feeling of dying at any moment, and they saw the scarring horrors that everybody provided kind sympathy for, but didn't actually understand. They knew the nauseating feeling of holding a gun, and using it to end a life for the very first time. They knew of the glimmering hope when everything felt so lost. These men – nothing more than young recruits in the beginning – knew of growing up too fast and of a lost childhood. Alex could relate to all this.

He admired how innocent and pure an age that was – for young men to willingly fight for the country with their lives because of a sense of duty. He greatly respected how his father and uncle were both patriots.

But he wasn't like them. As much as he wished he could be like his father and uncle, he just wasn't a patriot. It made Alex sick to think he would die working for MI6, similar to how the dead men they were commemorating now died for the country. Yet it was not so similar. He didn't want to die for Britain, no matter how selfish that sounded. He was blackmailed into this business. Those men fought for a cause they believed in, and even in death, they were glorious.

Alex wouldn't be glorious in death – how could he be? Nobody would remember him because nobody knew about him. He was the MI6's secret weapon, never to be told. He'd die nameless and for something he didn't believe in.

He couldn't help but feel a deep resentment. He hadn't wanted this – any of this. Being a spy, that is. But MI6 just wouldn't let him go.

_Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori._ How sweet and right it was to die for your country. Except, it wasn't so sweet in this century – not when people did things for money or because they were coerced into it. It wasn't back like the days where people felt the honour of representing one's nation in battle and the sheer glory of it made up for the fact that they might not survive to see tomorrow. To them and to his father, it was just right. They truly, truly believed in the rightness of serving their country.

He sighed as he glanced around at the other people in the crowd. How oblivious they were.

Alex thought he saw a ghost of a familiar face, but before he could decide if he was just imagining or not, the figure turned and disappeared.

The more Alex pondered over his situation, the more agitated he felt. When he could stand it no more, he slipped out of the crowd and walked away, not caring if he was being disrespectful.

He sat at a bench at Hyde Park, gazing at nothing in particular.

Alex felt a presence of another person sit down beside him.

"Shouldn't you be at Whitehall with everybody else?" The voice held no emotion except for mild curiosity.

"Shouldn't you be dead?" It wasn't so much a question, but a statement.

Yassen mused for a bit before replying, "I guess I should be, but I'm not."

"Then why aren't you?" Alex meant for it to sound like a retort, maybe a demand for an explanation, but instead it came out with weariness in his voice.

"I'm hard to kill, like you." As an afterthought, he added, "Though, in the plane, I really did think my time came."

"Why are you here?"

"To talk, of course," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You're not going to kill me?" Alex figured he must've been out of his mind, talking to the world's top assassin about his possible death like they were discussing the weather.

"No. I would never kill you, little Alex."

"It sure seemed that way when you sent me into the bullfight without second thought."

He shrugged.

Alex stared at him. Yassen still had that cold, emotionless aura around him, but that aura seemed to have softened slightly in his opinion.

"So ... what did you want to talk to me about?" Alex asked, referring to what Yassen said earlier.

"Anything you want to talk about."

"Why would I want to pour my heart out to you? You sent me to SCORPIA! They nearly killed me, you know. Besides, we're enemies. "

"I'm sorry about that. I didn't realize that John ... that he was an undercover agent. Though, it's not so surprising. It's exactly the type of thing he would do. I would've never sent you to them if I had known. In this world, it isn't always black and white. I'm as much an enemy to you as an ally. And to answer your question... because maybe you'd like somebody to listen to you, except nobody else would understand."

Alex looked up at the gray sky for a while before he finally sighed. He knew Yassen was right. He was the only one that got him. Maybe that's why he didn't leave when Yassen first sat next to him, and why his spy senses didn't go on alert like it should when an enemy approached.

He glanced at Yassen briefly before he said, "This spying stuff is ruining my life. Why won't MI6 leave me alone? I don't _want_ to be spy. Most kids my age would think it must be the coolest thing to be, but all I ever dream of is being a schoolboy. And the scariest part is, I don't think it's just MI6 refusing to let me quit... It's partly me. I don't think I _can _quit, knowing that I can help the world. But mostly, I think it's because I can't imagine settling into a normal life with a normal routine anymore. I've tried and tried, but it doesn't fit. I just can't picture it. I'm no longer me. Or at least, the 'me' I was. With spying, that part of me died. I'm not the schoolboy, but I'm not exactly the spy either, if you know what I mean. I can't figure out who I am anymore... I'm just really lost now."

All this time, Alex was looking at his feet, feeling defeated.

Yassen didn't say anything for a long while.

"You're Alex Rider, the teenage boy who never ceases to amaze me, even when he is without direction. Not everyone is clearly defined. In your case, you are simply made up of many things all rolled into one. Because of this, you have many options with what you can do, despite how cornered you feel." Yassen spoke with a faint Russian accent.

Alex nodded his head slowly, absorbing in Yassen's words carefully.

"Still, I don't know what I want to do with my life, and I'm wondering if I'll live to the day I know for sure. With all this spying business, I have my doubts."

"Open up your mind. Your future doesn't have to end so horribly. You say you can't leave the espionage world. Maybe you could join the army, or continue to spy, except with different agencies around the world. You could disappear if you wanted, for a while, just until you figured out what you want in life. When you're not on business, travel the world and relax. There are many things an ordinary schoolboy cannot do that you can."

Alex thought for a bit before he replied."Thanks."

They were only mere suggestions, but suddenly, the future didn't sound so bleak to Alex. He wanted to be a normal schoolboy, but then again, where was the fun in that? He'd probably get stuck with a boring office job if he were normal.

Alex wondered why he never considered these choices. Maybe it was because he was too busy wallowing in self-pity to step back and see everything clearly... to see that he maybe he _wasn't _chained to MI6 for life. He was sure the CIA or ASIS would gladly welcome him.

"Talking about it did help, surprisingly... thanks," Alex said again, this time smiling.

"I'll be leaving now." Yassen stood up and started walking down a path.

"Wait."

Yassen turned. "Yes?" he said, lifting an eyebrow.

"I was meaning to ask you this: why are you wearing a poppy? I didn't peg you as someone who would wear one, much less on the same day all of Britain does."

"Even assassins need to respect the dead."

"Don't you think that's a bit ironic? I mean, you're the one killing people."

"I may kill people without a second thought, but I still respect those who die for something they deeply care about. I recognize their sacrifice. John was just like that, you know. This was really the only reason why I decided to take a short break from my business and pass through London. It was merely by chance I saw you and decided to seek you out."

"Where are you heading after your business is finished?"

"Moscow, but probably here and there as well."

"Will I see you again in the future?"

"I thought we were enemies...?" Yassen said questioningly, no accusation or hostility in his tone.

"No... Not anymore. Not allies, either. Maybe... friends?" Alex said, a bit hopeful.

Yassen gave a faint smile. "Friends work."

"And the answer to my question...?"

"Definitely."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Trouble and danger is never too far from you. And I'll usually be at the other end of it."

Alex smiled a bit sheepishly at that comment. It was too true.

"Well, I better get going now. Good-bye, little Alex, till the next time we meet."

"Bye, and thanks again."

Yassen simply smiled, put his hands in his jacket pockets and walked off in the other direction.

Alex breathed out a puff of cold November air as he watched Yassen disappear into a tiny dot until he was no more. Then he started to head back home, noticing that the air wasn't as cutting as he previously thought. He felt lighter all over, too.

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><p>Frankly, I'm not too sure about this story. One moment, I like it; the next, I despise it. So you can see my dilemma in posting this. I was actually working on my first AR fanfic (and still working) when this plot bunny pops out of nowhere, pleading to be written. So I did. I guess my actual first AR fanfic will just have to be my 2nd.<p>

-s. jar


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